


Be of Good Cheer

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 04:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15598686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: During a hot summer day on the Wounded Coast Anders hears Fenris laugh, and he embarks on a quest to coax more laughter from Fenris.





	Be of Good Cheer

**Author's Note:**

> I believe there was a prompt I saw on tumblr that inspired this fic. I can't remember who wrote it or when, but this story sat with me for some time! So thank you, prompt and prompt creator! If I find it again I'll edit this note and credit you!

Summers in Kirkwall were hot.

It wasn’t like Kinloch with its mild sun and freezing water. The stone walls were always cold, even when the sun blazed at its brightest on the longest day of the year. And it certainly wasn’t like Amaranthine on the cold sea shore. Kirkwall was _hot_. The sun beat down on the city without mercy, and the air was thick with the promise of rain. Rain that never came, Anders thought bitterly as he pulled his sweat damp hair back into a stubby tail. Andraste’s Tits, would this heat wave never end?

The weather was unbearable, and those who could afford it fled the city for more temperate climes. Those who remained endured the hardship as best they could. Some citizens waded through the filthy fountains in the city squares, slime and algae clinging to their bare legs. Others risked bandit attacks in order to picnic on the Wounded Coast and enjoy a mild sea breeze. Others locked themselves in their homes and prayed to Andraste and the Maker (or whatever gods they believed in) for mercy and a change in the weather.

Anders remained in his sweltering hot clinic, where a fire roared in the back as he brewed healing potion after healing potion, salve after salve, creating every medicine he knew to combat the endless parade of need that came through his door. The air was always stuffy in Darktown, but it seemed particularly bad this summer and he had no relief from the heat. When it was night and there was no one else in the clinic, Anders stripped down to his trousers and tried to sleep. When the heat prevented rest, he climbed out of his cot, sat at his desk, and wrote. He wrote his manifesto. He wrote down possible medicinal concoctions, plant and mineral and magical combinations that hadn’t been thought of yet. When his fingers hurt and his mind was drained and his eyes gritty from a lack of sleep, Anders sketched pictures of- well, of anything he could think of.

Justice was thrilled by Anders’s intense productivity. Anders was not. So when Hawke dropped by the clinic with a job offer, Anders leaped at the opportunity to go anywhere else but Kirkwall, even if it was only for a day. A simple job, Hawke had said. Just patrolling the Wounded Coast. We’ll get some sunshine, some nice cold water, and consider it done, eh?

“Maker’s Hairy Balls, Hawke!” Anders complained as they trudged along the rocky shoreline in the late afternoon. “You promised sunshine and cool water, not- whatever this is!” 

The sun was so intense Anders felt like he was melting under his armored coat. But he couldn’t remove the coat, oh no! They were clearing out a bandit gang encamped along the rocky shore, and Anders wasn’t about to remove his armor and risk getting stabbed and dying from some horrible infection. Hawke, being Hawke, only laughed in the face of Anders’s complaints.

“I got you out of your stuffy clinic for the day, Anders, you should be thanking me!” Hawke mock-protested. Anders rolled his eyes.

“You ass,” Anders muttered. He couldn’t deny that being out of his clinic was a pleasant change of pace. Sure, the sun was hot, and he was sweating through his shirt and coat, but he wasn’t trapped in his sweltering clinic brewing potions over a hot fire. Anders wondered how Hawke was able to manage running about outside in full armor without fainting from exhaustion.

“Varric’s enjoying himself,” Hawke added cheerfully. “Aren’t you, Varric?”

“Nope!” Varric shouted from several paces away, where he was carefully going through the contents of a bandit’s abandoned caravan. “It’s like walking in a rage demon’s armpit, Hawke!”

“See? We’re all having a good time,” Hawke continued serenely. “Even Fenris is having fun!”

Now, Anders could believe that Varric secretly found wandering the Wounded Coast at midday fun. Varric had a strange way of finding joy in everything- or at least amusement. And Hawke was obviously enjoying himself. But Fenris? Fenris didn’t seem to enjoy anything! Even on the burning hot sand, where he stood barefoot ( _barefoot_!), Fenris remained perfectly stoic. He didn’t even seem to sweat! Anders would have been jealous, but it was Fenris. He probably traded his sense of humor for the ability to maintain optimal body temperature. Or maybe it was another odd effect from the lyrium embedded in his body.

“Fenris doesn’t seem to agree with you,” Anders told Hawke, “though I’m not exactly in tune with anything _Fenris_ , so I’m probably wrong as usual.”

“I have no particular feelings on the subject,” Fenris said. He almost sounded bored. Hawke just shrugged and joined Varric in looting the caravan. Fenris kept his distance, shifting from one foot to the other on the hot sand, his face an expressionless mask. His face gave absolutely nothing away. Anders wondered if Fenris was so used to warm temperatures that this heat wave was normal for him. Maybe Fenris didn’t have any feelings, physical or emotional.

“Oh, look at this! Old Templar uniforms! And-” Hawke proudly exclaimed as he dug through a wooden chest, “it’s a... magenta plaidweave dress!” Hawke held the garment up to his broad chest and let the wide skirts whirl from side to side. The bright colors and bold pattern was dizzying when still. When it moved it was positively nauseous.

“I’m going to wear this for mother’s dinner party in a fortnight. Make a splash in society,” Hawke announced. “What do you think, Varric?”

“I think you’ve already made a splash, Hawke,” Varric said with a smirk. Fenris snorted. Hawke looked at Anders expectantly.

“If you want my honest opinion? Set it on fire. After all,” Anders added when Hawke’s face fell, “it’s been stored with Templar uniforms. It probably has fleas.” There was a pause, a brief moment of silence between all four men, and then there was a snort, a low chuckle, and a miracle happened.

Fenris _laughed_.

It was a low, deep sound that started soft and grew louder as he laughed more and more. His laugh was like the rumble of distant thunder, but warmer. It was bright and beautiful, and who would have thought that _Fenris_ had a laugh like that! It was the sort of laugh that made you want to smile and laugh along, and Anders wanted to hear it again. He wanted to make Fenris laugh again.

“Fleas, hmm?” Fenris said with one final chuckle. “You will have to tell me about the fleas that lay down with Templars someday, Mage.” Fenris walked off to stand in the shallows of the ocean. The waves lapped at his feet and ankles. He tilted his head and lifted his face towards the sun. His eyes were closed, and a faint smile turned his lips upwards. A faint breeze ruffled his pale hair, cloudlike and… and beautiful.

And that day, in the middle of a sweltering summer afternoon on the Wounded Coast, Anders swore he would make Fenris laugh again. The opportunity came sooner than Anders expected.

“Look, I need a magic expert with me, and Merrill’s busy at the Alienage,” Hawke explained for at least the tenth time. “It would be fantastic if you could just… come along. To the Gallows. Just for a bit.”

“Hawke, stepping into the Gallows is like asking me to pretty please put my neck in a noose,” Anders retorted as he tied his hair back- damn this heat! Anders was determined to ignore it, just like he was going to ignore Hawke’s latest request. Hawke didn’t have magic, though Anders thought he would be a bit more aware of the _danger_ the Gallows posed, considering his family history. But no. Hawke didn’t realize that he was asking Anders to walk into a death trap by going to the Gallows. Hawke just turned his big brown eyes up at Anders and- and-

“That isn’t fair, Hawke,” Anders muttered. Puppy eyes. He had a weakness for puppy eyes. Andraste’s Tits!

“I play dirty, I know,” Hawke replied breezily, “but you love it.”

“I definitely do not,” Anders said. Somewhere in the clinic, Anders heard that low chuckle- blast it, it was Fenris! And he didn’t even get to see the way his green eyes lit up when he was amused, or the wicked way his mouth curled up- that laugh didn’t count, then. Anders didn’t see it, so he couldn’t _prove_ Fenris laughed at his joke, so there! He still had to keep going. He exited the back of his clinic with Hawke, and met the sight of Isabela and Fenris waiting in the main room. Isabela was grinning while Fenris watched them stoically.

“Took your time, sweet thing,” Isabela said. “Did Hawke tell you what he needs?”

“Magic item, blah blah, can’t tell good product from bad, blah,” Anders replied. “Needs me to go shopping from him, never mind that I’m putting my neck on the line.”

“That’s why we brought Fenris! No Templar will dare look at you if Fenris glowers at them!” Hawke sounded incredibly pleased with his plan. “Now hurry up, I want to be in and out of the Gallows before dark!” So off they went, with Isabela sailing them onto the island and Anders dreading every second of it. Hawke chattered on, obliviously happy, and Fenris stood silently by, as stern as he usually was. And as soon as they disembarked Hawke ran off to go have a conversation with Knight Captain Cullen! _Cullen_ , of all people!

“I remember him from Kinloch,” Anders muttered as he looked over the runes for sale at one booth. “Sanctimonious golden boy. Model recruit.” Cullen was almost nice back then, which made Anders dislike the Templars as a whole even more. Tainted apples spoiled the whole bunch, and Cullen had definitely spoiled.

“Hmmm,” Fenris grunted as Anders selected a frost and protection rune. He’d have to move on to staffs next, which brought them closer to Hawke and (ugh) Knight Captain Cullen. Maker’s Balls!

“Ten silver, ser,” The Tranquil woman running the booth murmured. Anders gave her the exact amount. Anything else would set the Templars on edge, and she would be the one punished for it. The Gallows was a place that strangled Mages, suffocated them until the gasped their last breath. Anders wished he could burn it to the ground, the whole rotten system, but no. He couldn’t do it. At least, not today.

“You seem angry,” Fenris commented quietly as they walked away.

“This place makes me angry,” Anders muttered. “Not that you’d get it.”

“It is… uncomfortable. It is not wise to linger here,” Fenris replied. Anders looked over at him, and saw Fenris looking up. Anders followed his gaze, until he was staring directly at the enormous stone statue of a man in a metal collar, enormous iron chains linking him to the ground as he hunched over, face hidden in his hands and oh. Oh.

“I… it’s always been like that,” Anders murmured. “One type of slavery to another. The statues serve the same purpose. Stupid of me, to forget.” Fenris stopped glaring up at the statue to look at Anders. His green eyes just stared, like a giant cat sizing him up. Anders resisted the urge to blink or look away.

“This place is unclean,” Fenris finally declared, and he started to make his way back to the dock and where Isabela was waiting. “Do you think Hawke has finished his conversation with the Knight Captain?”

“With Cullen? I doubt it.” Anders glanced over to Hawke, who was still chattering on while Knight Captain Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and forefinger. A familiar gesture, and one that reminded Anders of better times at Kinloch. Funnier times.

“Have I ever told you about the time I convinced that man to kiss a frog?” Anders asked. Fenris turned and stared at Anders, his mouth slightly agape. He shut it quickly. Fenris seemed to have the manners to not gawk.

“Who, Hawke?” Fenris sounded utterly bemused.

“No, the Knight Captain,” Anders replied. “When we were young, me just a lowly apprentice and him a fresh faced recruit, I convinced him to kiss a frog. It was all fun and games, I assure you. Harmless joke. Not that Irving or Gregoir saw it that way, and Wynne nearly tore my hide with her tongue lashing.” It also meant extra kitchen duty for a fortnight, but it was worth it!

“I… believe I should hear this tale. For educational purposes,” Fenris finally said. They stood on the docks, far enough away from Isabela that she couldn’t overhear them. Fenris leaned against a timber mooring. No boat was tied up there. He only startled a seagull from its resting place. The bird noisily flapped away, squawking all the while.

“Educational? That’s new,” Anders replied. “What sort of education do you think you’re getting?”

“What if a mage tries to force me to kiss a frog? I should know your methodology,” Fenris said, and Anders could have sworn on the Chant of Light that Fenris was grinning. Fenris! Grinning! Anders cautiously smiled back.

“It was pretty simple. Cullen was very new, and he hadn’t much experience with what magic could and couldn’t do, or what anyone was capable of,” Anders explained. “And he was annoying me. Always on me about not being where I should be and when I should be there, suspecting me of doing something wrong- it was always something!”

Cullen was obsessed with perfection. He was forever following the rules, which led to him being in charge of everything as soon as he proved himself within his first month as a recruit. It utterly rankled that some new Templar boy was allowed to boss Anders around. Anders was forever being scolded for being too much. Too bright, too bold, too proud of what he was. So the frog was a bit of pettiness, a sort of fun that harmed no one and set perfect golden boy Cullen back in his place. Anders glowered at Knight Captain Cullen’s back. That childhood lesson obviously needed to be taught again, but it was probably too late for the man to glean any knowledge from it now. He was just set in his ways. He would forever be a dictatorial prat.

“He was annoying you. And you… made him kiss a frog,” Fenris said slowly. His bright green eyes looked quizzical, his brow furrowed, he looked utterly charming as he pondered what Anders told him.

“How did you do it? He doesn’t seem the type to kiss frogs without cause, and he easily outweighs you by five stone,” Fenris pointed out. Anders scoffed and flung his hand to his chest.

“Fenris, are you commenting on a man’s weight?!” He exclaimed. Fenris snorted.

“Are you trying to get out of telling me the tale?” he asked.

“Maker’s Breath you’re stubborn! But fine. I didn’t force him, mind you. Never made him do anything against his will,” Anders said firmly, “and he never forgave me that. Always fancied himself to be the cleverest of the lot.”

“Anders,” Fenris said with a trace of irritation.

“I’m getting to it! So one day, when Cullen was being particularly unbearable, I decided to get even. I went down to the shores of the lake at sunset, and I looked for the biggest, loudest frog I could find,” Anders explained. It was a beautiful frog, Anders recalled. Its skin was as green as the brightest emeralds, and its eyes were dark and bulbous. It didn’t even struggle that much when Anders caught it, as if it knew of the great destiny that awaited it.

“I took the frog back inside. Smuggled it in my robes. Gave it a little dish of water and let it sleep in a box for the night. Then after morning prayer and breakfast, I had chores. I was supposed to help organize the scrolls in the library as a punishment for using magic to clean dishes-“

“Why am I not surprised?” Fenris mumbled. Anders glared at him.

“Do you want to hear the tale or not? Because I can stop,” Anders replied. Fenris rolled his eyes. He was rather expressive, wasn’t he? Anders hadn’t noticed before. They hadn’t had a conversation like this before. Had they ever truly talked?

“Please, continue,” Fenris said.

“Anyways, I was under the supervision of Enchanter Juliana, but Juliana was a dear old thing who nodded off in the middle of her sentences. And I knew that Cullen was on guard near the library that afternoon, so I took the frog out of the box in my robe, rushed outside of the library, and bumped into him,” Anders explained. “And after he scolded me for running in the halls with a frog in hand when I was supposed to be working as penance, I interrupted him.

“‘You don’t understand!’ I exclaimed, very convincingly I might add. ‘I have to see Enchanter Wynne straight away! I accidentally turned Amell into a frog!’

“Naturally Cullen was alarmed, especially because he was bit lovesick over Amell- brilliant Mage, she was, distant cousin to Hawke, hope she made it out of Kinloch before it went to shit- anyhow, Cullen was smitten with her. So, imagine some fourteen year old boy being told the object of his boyish infatuation was in trouble. He was utterly furious with me, demanding to know how I was going to fix this. I couldn’t leave Amell as a frog!

“So I told him that I _heard_ transformation magic like that could be cured with a kiss. Naturally, I couldn’t kiss her. She was like a sister to me, it would be disgusting to kiss her!

“You asked me how I made Cullen kiss a frog, Fenris, and my answer is that I didn’t,” Anders said. “I only suggested it.”

For a brief moment it was silent between them. There was nothing but the sound of the waves lapping in the dock and the shrill sound of seagulls. Fenris chuckled, then laughed, the low sound rolling out of his body like thunder. Anders felt more than a little proud of himself. He did that. He made Fenris laugh!

“That is absurd!” Fenris declared. “You tricked him! Into kissing a frog!”

“To be fair it was a very pretty frog. I’m sure if I somehow turned Amell into a frog she wouldn’t have been half as green or shiny,” Anders offered, which sent Fenris into another laughing fit. Anders nearly burst with pride. He made Fenris laugh! And it wasn’t some dry chuckle and brief snort. It was a laugh that came from deep in his chest and shook his frame. It was the sort of laugh that made everything better, brighter, and full of hope. A world where someone as jaded and serious as Fenris could still find something to laugh about- well, that world wasn’t completely bad.

“You should share more tales, Anders,” Fenris finally said once he stopped laughing. “You have a talent for telling them.” And when Anders blushed as red as a ripe strawberry, Fenris laughed again.

Of course, after that incident, Anders couldn’t stop himself. It was easy to make Fenris angry, to get him to roll his eyes and scoff and glower. But it was harder, much harder, to make him laugh. Anders always found challenges to be rewarding. Fenris’s laughter was a strange sort of balm as the summer stretched on in infinite heat and misery. It was something that distracted Anders from the pit of despair and need that lingered outside his clinic door. It reminded him that there was good to be had, that even someone like Fenris, who had seen the worst the world had to offer, could still find humor and joy.

Justice didn’t understand it, of course. He never quite understood the nuances of humor. He didn’t like the distractions that Fenris’s presence caused. His disapproval was a heavy stone in Anders’s mind, a weight he couldn’t fully ignore. Yet Justice also had a strange sort of respect for Fenris, something grudging and even admiring. Anders wished he could speak to his friend and untangle the emotions that ran through him. Them. Fenris was a complicated subject for them both, it seemed. But Anders found that he could not- no, would not- pull away. Instead, he drew closer to his companions.

Anders found more stories to tell, and he shared them with his companions. He joked with Hawke about Ferelden customs. He laughed with Isabela as he reminisced over their past. He slowly warmed up to Merrill because he knew what it was to be alone and friendless. He thanked Varric for keeping an eye on him in Darktown, and thanked Aveline for averting her eyes when it came to his clinic. He grudgingly spoke with Sebastian, and while Anders knew they would never be friends he no longer wanted to stab the man in the eye with the sharp end of his staff. He could even feel a little sorry for the bastard. He was loyal, if nothing else. It was a shame he gave his loyalty to a jellyfish spined bint like Elthina.

But more than anything, Anders found himself spending more time with Fenris. He shared terrible jokes and rhymes (and there were not nearly enough words that rhyme with nug, Anders found). He sang songs, and even dramatically pantomimed a sultry, sleezey Orlesian play that had Sebastian blushing to the auburn roots of his hair and Isabela gleefully cheering him on. Anders let himself be- well, himself. He let himself relax, breathe, and try to make Fenris laugh. More often than not, he was successful. Yet it was odd, for the one thing that always brought a smile to Fenris’s face and a chuckle from his mouth were stories from Anders’s time in Kinloch. Nothing serious, mind. Everything was casual and innocent, such as the time he hid all the Templar’s practice swords in the dung pile, or when he put itching powder in the formal surcoats the day before the midnight Satinalia service. Simple stories. Funny ones.

“Why do you have an obsession with frogs, Anders?” Fenris asked one evening as they sat around a campfire near Sundermount. Hawke and Merrill had gone to bed in their tent, and Anders had volunteered to share a watch with Fenris. Fenris hadn’t objected, and they fell to talking, as was their new habit.

“Pardon?” Anders sat up on the log he was leaning against.

“Frogs feature heavily in your childhood tales,” Fenris elaborated. “I wondered why.”

“Easy to gather ‘em when you live on a lake,” Anders replied. “And it made the Templars angry.” Anything that made his captors angry- not angry enough to do something drastic but enough to ruin a day or two- was good in Anders’s book. Those small battles, those petty wins, they were the little ways to get back in an unequal system. An unjust system. When you were trapped under a heavy hand and watchful eye, you took your victories where you could.

“I haven’t told you about the frog parade, have I?” Anders remarked, and he grinned when Fenris’s ears twitched. His expression was impassive, but Anders knew Fenris was curious. Anders stretched his arms over his head, his joints cracking as he arched his back. He was getting old, too old for camping in the woods, but here he was.

“It was summer, not nearly as hot as this one. Ferelden doesn’t usually get as hot as Kirkwall,” Anders explained. “And we had plenty of rain. Lots of frogs that season.” Their calls nearly drove the apprentices mad, for their sleeping quarters were in a tower right on the shoreline. The songs of happy frogs prevented them from catching any shut eye unless someone downed a sleeping draught.

“We has this one guest Templar Commander visiting from Ostwick. He was a bit of a stuffy prick, throwing his weight around and making the Templars even more insufferable than usual,” Anders explained. “It made the resident Templars anxious. Best behavior and all that. Made them crack down on us just a little more.”

“So you gathered frogs,” Fenris said, “as a way to… level the battlefield.” Fenris seemed to understand what Anders was getting at with his childhood pranks. He seemed to _approve_ of them, which was… well, it wasn’t what Anders ever expected from anyone, but it was a shock to realize that Fenris approved of him. It made his heart race.

“There were so many of them, and I had gotten pretty good at trapping them in the wicker baskets we used in the laundry,” Anders replied. “Set up the traps, got baskets of frogs, and then-”

“Waited,” Fenris finished the sentence. “What next?”

“We had a farewell feast for the Ostwick Knight Commander in the great hall,” Anders said. “It was the perfect opportunity.” Anders remembered the sort of manic eagerness that overtook him as he plotted. When was the perfect time to set out the frog baskets? Where were the places he could hide them? How did he keep anyone from finding the frogs? He had planned and plotted and schemed and worked it all out to perfection.

“So when everyone was busy in the kitchens or sweeping up the hall or polishing silverware, I slipped away,” Anders explained. “No one missed me, since they were all preoccupied with being perfectly obedient and docile. So I went and set the baskets in the gallery that hung over the main table. I think it was meant for minstrels or bards or something, but Maker knows no one was using it for that when I was at Kinloch. And I slipped a basket of frogs under the table as well. And when the dinner bell was rung and we were all seated, I feigned some illness and excused myself, then snuck around the great hall and took of the lids on the baskets.”

“And no one caught you?” Fenris interrupted.

“I’m very good at hiding when I need to hide,” Anders replied. “You know, keep your head down, pretend that you’re supposed to be there, and eyes just slide over you.” Fenris seemed to accept Anders’s explanation and nodded. Anders continued his story.  
“So then I took off the basket lids, tipped a few over, and the frogs poured out like a flood!” Anders exclaimed, and he grinned when Fenris snorted. “I managed to sneak up the to gallery and tip the rest of the baskets over before joining the crowd below.

“It was glorious, an absolute torrent of frogs hopping across the floor, onto tables, into everyone’s food- it was complete chaos! And there was the Knight Commander from Ostwick at the front of the hall, looking as stern and pompous as ever with his bald head and little piggish eyes while the frogs hopped all over. He was acting like this was all beneath him, like _we_ were all beneath him, like this was what he expected from some provincial Circle in backwards Ferelden, and that was when someone kicked over the basket under the head table and those frogs hopped into the fray.” 

Anders paused and looked at Fenris, who was leaning forward, towards Anders, hooked on the story. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, and his expression was so focused, hanging on Anders’s every word. He sat with baited breath, waiting for the next turn in the tale, and Anders couldn’t deny him that.

“The frogs poured out from under the table, and one particularly large one jumped into the Knight Commander’s soup! They just stared at each other, frog and Templar, and the Knight Commander’s face went as grey as a corpse! He tried to edge away from the table and that enormous frog in his soup, but he stumbled over his seat and almost fell to the floor. That’s when the frog jumped him. Ruined his velvet surcoat with frog slime and lentils. Naturally it all fell into chaos, everyone was screaming and hysterical, it was a mess. Certainly made it one of the better meals I had in the Circle,” Anders said, “and no one had a bite to eat.”

Fenris laughed at that, green eyes alight with humor, and Anders puffed up with pride. Humor was what helped him survive Kinloch, and sharing those stories- well, it kept some of it alive. The stories kept him alive, at least a little bit of him he thought was lost. Anders continued his story.

“No one could prove it was me who did it. In all the chaos I made sure to be just as caught up in the mess as everyone else. But no one else was known for catching frogs and placing them in odd locations, so everyone was reasonably sure I was the guilty party. Wynne convinced First Enchanter Irving to show some leniency and not shove me down in solitary again, said she needed me in the infirmary. But of course they couldn’t let me or any mage go unpunished, so it was a public flogging. Got twenty lashings and had to clean up the entire Great Hall afterwards.” Anders shrugged. The ending was a little bitter, he could admit that much, but Anders always found it amusing.

Fenris, however, did not. He stared at Anders, all humor and light in his eyes gone.

“They whipped you,” he said, his voice flat.

“Of course. Had to do something to punish me,” Anders replied, “so it was a beating. Better than solitary, at least for me.” Fenris still seemed pensive, though. Troubled. Anders didn’t really know what he could do about that. Fenris’s brooding demeanor was just accepted as a part of his personality, yet Anders had become accustomed to Fenris’s sense of dry humor. He wasn’t always grim, and he wasn’t mercurial. He simply Anders’s story had upset Fenris.

“It was a long time ago, Fenris, and it was hardly the worst thing that happened to me,” Anders said gently. “Or any mage, really.” There were worse punishments for lesser crimes, and Anders couldn’t forget those. He wished he could, but he had to remember.

“It… I didn’t realize,” Fenris murmured. “I didn’t know that whippings were used in Circles. It isn’t that way in Tevinter. A public whipping is… that is a punishment for slaves.”

“Oh.” Well, that certainly explained Fenris’s change in mood. There were some topics that just couldn’t be laughed about.

“Yes. Oh.”

“I… well, you’re probably tired, and need some rest without me blathering on, so I’ll take the rest of the watch for you-”

“Anders. Peace. I’m not angry,” Fenris sighed. “But I think we have had enough tales for tonight.”

They didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the watch. Anders turned in for the night and Merrill took his place, but Anders didn’t sleep. He lay awake in his bedroll and wondered what he could do to mend this sudden rift. He and Fenris weren’t friends, exactly, but these past few weeks had been… friendly. Comfortable. Good, even. Everyone noticed that he and Fenris weren’t taking potshots at each other. They remarked that it was nice to be with them and know they weren’t seconds away from an eruption. And it was nice! Anders liked that he wasn’t tiptoeing around Fenris, and he supposed- no, he was certain- that Fenris liked that he didn’t have to watch his words around Anders. This was good for them both, and Anders didn’t want to lose this… developing relationship. They weren’t friends, no, but they were becoming friends. Anders turned over onto his side and curled his knees into his chest. They were becoming friends.

Anders didn’t have many friends. He wasn’t about to lose one when they were just starting to get on.

He and Fenris remained cordially quiet for the rest of the trip up and down Sundermount. There wasn’t a lot of conversation to be had, really. Merrill and Hawke were checking in on Feynriel, Anders was busy trying to keep out of the way, and Fenris was being Fenris and lingering on the edges of the camp. He was the sort who lingered just outside the firelight that was society, darting into conversations and then out of them just as quickly. Fenris didn’t stay, and that was something Anders could relate to. When you were always hunted, always the prey, you never overstayed your welcome. You never settled. It was yet another commonality, another thing they could not speak of and laugh about. It was going to be silence for a while until he could find the proper words, the right sort of story, that would ease the tension and return everything to the new normal.

So it was a bit of a surprise when Fenris took Anders aside after they entered Kirkwall. His grip was firm on Anders’s upper arm, and he leaned in towards him. It was a new gesture, keeping the conversation between them. Private. For no one else’s ears.

“I would like to speak with you. Tonight,” Fenris clarified. “If you are amenable.”

“I, well, yes. Of course,” Anders said. “I can drop by. Is there- do I need to bring anything?” Anders wondered if Fenris needed a private healing session- infection, perhaps? Those lyrium markings looked a little inflamed, but perhaps that was the light playing tricks on his eyes. But Fenris tilted his head and frowned slightly, as if he was considering something.

“Bread,” Fenris declared, “I can provide the rest. I’ll see you tonight.” Then he was gone, sauntering (yes, sauntering!) up the stairs to Hightown. Fenris almost sounded like- well, if it were anyone else Anders would have thought-

“Oh, getting into Fenris’s pants already?” Merrill asked innocently. “Isabela said it would be another fortnight at least, and Aveline wagered never!”

Anders stared blankly at Merrill, who happily chattered on.

“Of course, Hawke said you did it yesterday, but I know better,” Merrill said with a twinkle in her eye. “Will you and Fenris hold off for another week? The Alienage could use the extra coin, I’m planning a festival and it would be nice to provide some decent meat for once-“

“Merrill, what exactly do you think is going on between Fenris and myself?” he asked carefully. Merrill winked at him and nudged her elbow into his side. Anders winced. Little she may be, but Merrill’s elbows were sharp!

“Oh, you’re teasing me,” Merrill said with a little laugh, “or pretending I don’t know. Anders, I know about sex. I’ve had sex! If you and Fenris are intimate you don’t have to keep it a secret, though it would have been nice to win the betting pool-“

“Betting pool?!” Anders couldn’t believe it. No, that was inaccurate. He very well could believe it, he just didn’t want to. His friends made a betting pool about the likelihood of him and Fenris sleeping together. It had to be Varric’s fault. Or Hawke.

“Sebastian was the first to say it, though I don’t believe he meant for it to go this far,” Merrill mused. “We were all so happy you and Fenris stopped fighting, and then Fenris kept giving you those puppy eyes he used to give Hawke when no one was looking- and of course you always stare at Fenris, so naturally we all started counting the days. Except Aveline, of course.”

“Of course.” Anders heard his voice as if it was coming from leagues away. It didn’t really sound like him at all. Merrill didn’t seem to notice at all, however. She smiled and clapped her hands.

“Isn’t it lovely that you two found each other? Happiness is much better than winning money, I think. You’ll have to tell us all about it at the Hanged Man. Have a nice evening, Anders,” Merrill said, and she waved Anders farewell before trotting off to her home in the Alienage. Anders just stared blankly down the road leading to the Alienage, and then turned his head to the right to stare up the stairs to Hightown. Him. Fenris. Romance. Together.

Fuck.

Naturally, Anders panicked. It was what he did when things didn’t go according to plan: he panicked, tried to fix things, made everything worse, and then usually set it all ablaze and tried to laugh about it later. But this time he couldn’t laugh, because it was Fenris, and Fenris was- well, he was a different bag of cats altogether. For one, Fenris was a rather terrifying sort of person you wanted as an ally. Anders had enjoyed a certain amount of security similar to his time as a Warden when Fenris was watching his back. You didn’t make an enemy of Fenris. You didn’t laugh at someone like Fenris, and you certainly didn’t light them on fire. But really, Anders couldn’t laugh about this disaster because it was Fenris, and he was growing rather fond of Fenris.

When had it all started? When had the others noticed? Anders knew right away. He was easily infatuated with pretty people, always had been. Fenris was pretty in the way a piece of volcanic glass was pretty- glimmering, sharp, dangerous, enticing. Anders was also a man who knew his limits. It was dangerous for a Mage to be involved with anyone. Love was a game, and infatuation was playing with fire. So he had kept his distance, told himself friendship was the most he could risk- and friendship was good! Friendship was better than good! He didn’t need anything else.

But oh, he wanted. He was greedy and he wanted.

So Anders washed up with a sliver of soap and a handful of lukewarm water from the pitcher he set on the crate that was his nightstand. He wore his second best set of clothing (the Best was for winter and highly unsuitable, given the heat). He went out and bought a loaf of bread (not the fancy stuff that was more air than bread, but a hearty loaf from one of the Ferelden bakeries). And when the sun started to set over the ocean, Anders made his way up to Hightown and Fenris’s mansion.

The door was open, so Anders let himself in. The foyer was empty, so he tiptoed into Fenris’s lair. It was a lair, wasn’t it? Too dark and dingy to not be, really. Fenris never bothered cleaning up the place. 

Anders wondered what he would do if he had a crumbling mansion fall into his lap. He liked to think he’d repair it. His baser instincts said he’d fill it with tavern wenches, beautiful men, and fine clothes as furniture. His altruistic side (and Justice) would have turned it into a larger, cleaner, more successful sanctuary of healing and salvation. But Anders knew himself better than that. The mansion would remain as it was under Fenris’s tenure- a ramshackle mess of a house.

“Fenris? I’m here! It’s Anders,” he added pathetically. A muffled voice, Fenris’s voice, cursed lowly and then shouted back.

“Outside. Go through the kitchen, it’s the door torn off it’s hinges just ahead.” Anders followed Fenris’s directions, edging past the armored practice dummy flung across the hall and gingerly stepping over the splintered remains of the kitchen door. The air was cooler in the kitchen. Cleaner smelling, too. Almost like… Anders cautiously sniffed the air. It smelled green, like a garden after a rainstorm. A garden! Anders stepped out of the dark kitchen and into the sunshine and stared. 

Fenris hadn’t bothered to repair his mansion. He repaired the garden instead.

Fenris was busy setting something down on a low table made of planks of wood and old bricks. Brightly colored cushions lay around the table on the brick patio under an apple tree. The tree’s branches were heavy with unripe fruit. Fenris straightened up, looked at Anders, and smiled.

“Good evening, Anders,” he said politely.

“Evening, Fenris. Where were you hiding this? It’s…” Anders struggled to find the words to describe this patch of greenery, a cool oasis in the middle of Kirkwall. He turned a slow circle, taking everything in. In one corner there was a vegetable garden. In another, the patio they stood on. Another was filled with flower beds. A small shed stood in the last corner. Vines and climbing roses clung to the mansion walls, covering the crumbling stone with green leaves and beautiful flowers of all colors.

“It’s beautiful,” Anders said lamely. It was a good deal more than beautiful, but he couldn’t find the words. Funny, him not finding words. He was usually good at that. Fenris seemed more than satisfied, however. A flush covered his face, and he grinned with a good deal of delight in his expression.

“It wasn’t easy. The fountain was particularly troublesome, but it was worth it. Even in this heat it has kept the plants from frying,” Fenris explained, then he gestured to the table and cushions surrounding it. “Won’t you sit down?”

Anders sat down on a faded teal cushion with gold and orange embroidery. He handed Fenris the loaf of bread wrapped in brown paper.

“It’s… nice of you to have me,” Anders offered. “Should’ve brought a gift, haven’t often been invited to someone’s home. Besides Hawke’s, of course.” Fenris set the bread on the table next to a bottle of wine, two glasses, and several dishes filled with food- cheeses, fruits, some kind of salad, what looked like chicken- a practical feast!

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a gift,” Fenris replied as he sat down across from Anders. “It took some time to learn how to properly host a guest in my home. You’re technically the first person I’ve invited.”

“Technically?”

“Everyone we know has been in the house. Merrill invited herself into the garden. The other gardeners in the area will hop over the wall to talk- but I invited you,” Fenris explained. “It is a pleasure to invite someone and host them. Wine?

“Yes please,” Anders croaked, more than a little stunned. Fenris rarely offered this much personal information in a conversation, never mind packing it all into a few short sentences! Fenris poured the wine, a deep red, into the glasses, and tore off a chunk of Anders’s bread and spread a small bit of soft cheese onto it.

“Thank you for coming, Anders,” Fenris said. “I thought that, since you enjoy stories, I might tell you one.”

“Alright,” Anders replied. “Tell me a story, Fenris.” And Fenris did.

Once upon a time, there was a boy. If he had a name he didn’t remember it. If he had a family he didn’t remember them beyond flashes of color and the touches of ghosts. The boy didn’t remember much of his boyhood, and it made him a jealous man. He drank up the childhood stories of his compatriots like water. In particular, he devoured the tales of one man in particular, a man who faced his jailers with a sharp smile, a quick wit, and a veritable army of lake frogs.

“I like to think that I was like you when I was a child,” Fenris murmured after he finished his short story. “Clever. Fearless. But I doubt it.”

“I wasn’t fearless, just angry,” Anders countered, “and stupid enough to think I would win.” He never won a fight against a Templar until he managed to escape them that final time. And that fight was nothing to laugh about.

“Perhaps it is a foolish dream of mine, a desire to not be a helpless victim,” Fenris said. “I wish I knew that I laughed at my troubles instead of burying them, but I hardly know what my troubles were from before. I can only guess.”

“I’m sure they’re good guesses.”

“Undoubtedly,” Fenris replied. “More wine?” Anders handed his glass over and let Fenris refill it. Give him a hundred years and Anders could have never imagined the scene he was playing a part in. He and Fenris, sitting across from each other in a garden paradise, drinking wine and eating a fine meal while discussing their horrible respective pasts.

“It isn’t all jokes, you know. Not everything was ‘pull a harmless prank and launder Templar socks for a month.’ It wasn’t all like that,” Anders said suddenly. He needed Fenris to understand, he had to understand that the Circle wasn’t a game of push and pull until someone erred and pulled or pushed too hard. It didn’t matter what you did, it was always too much. Anders just figured it was better to do something and be punished than to do nothing at all and still be in trouble. At least then he lived with the satisfaction of having gotten something out of it.

“I know. Whippings. That is- public whippings are the punishment of choice in Tevinter. When you said it was done to you, it made me think,” Fenris murmured. “Like you said, it wasn’t all laughter and good cheer. The humor does not erase what was done.”

“Circles, Mages, Tevinter, slavery- it goes round and round until we’re all hot and bothered and screaming at each other for our pasts when we weren’t the ones who did it,” Anders replied. “All this time we keep shouting at the wrong person. You weren’t Knight Commander Greagoir who had me lashed until I bled all over the stones in the courtyard.”

“And you aren’t Danarius,” Fenris said firmly. “You never were. I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it.”

“I don’t think you could ever be a Templar,” Anders began.

“They don’t let elves in,” Fenris pointed out wryly.

“I’m trying to be nice, Fenris! You could at least let me finish!” Anders coughed and tried again.

“You couldn’t ever be a Templar, Fenris, you’re too decent a man to ever go through with it.”

Fenris was silent. He set his goblet down on his makeshift table and cleared his throat. Anders waited uneasily for what Fenris would say next. First there was the laughter, all those weeks ago, and then Fenris seeking him out for conversations. Then there was the invitation, the meal, the garden, Fenris’s story, sharing a small bit of the bitterness of their pasts- it was a lot to take in. After all these revelations another would surely turn his head!

“I, ah. I don’t know what to say next,” Fenris confessed. “Isabela said you’d be absolute putty if I wined and dined you but instead I regaled you with my life story. You must be bored now.”

“No, not bored. A little confused,” Anders confessed. “Why did you talk to Isabela about…” Anders let his thought trail off into the evening air. Fenris spoke to Isabela about Anders. She suggested wining and dining and wooing, which was typical of Isabel, but it wasn’t exactly something Fenris was known for. So why would Fenris go to all this trouble for a simple conversation, a revelation, a- oh.

_Oh_ , this changed things.

“I admire you greatly, Anders. In many ways,” Fenris states firmly, his eyes fixed somewhere between the table and his lap. “Do with that what you will.”

Anders stood up and walked around the table, then sat down right next to Fenris. Close, but not touching. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Fenris was staring with those big green eyes, looking adorably confused and worried and a little bit lost- Anders took another deep breath. Time to shit or get off the pot.

“I’m more than a little crazy over you, Fenris,” Anders admitted shyly. “You’re… you’re incredible. So, uh, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Oh.” Fenris looked down at his lap again, at his hands, at everywhere but Anders, but his face was flushed. Fenris was blushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears! Adorable. Anders hesitantly reached out and took Fenris’s hand in his, tangling his fingers between Fenris’s. He squeezed Fenris’s hand tightly. Fenris slowly looked up and met Anders’s eyes, and then carefully, cautiously, gently squeezed Anders’s hand back.

“Thank you for inviting me, Fenris,” Anders murmured. “I’m… well, I want to share more evenings like this. Laughing, talking, being open- being together. It’s… it’s good.” More than good, but Anders didn’t want to overwhelm Fenris, who looked almost dizzy. But Anders was never good at hiding his feelings, and he was never one to hide from anything- so he spoke.

“If I can give you a reason to laugh and be cheerful, I’ve done something right,” Anders said firmly. People like Fenris didn’t have a lot of things to smile about, Anders thought sadly, but if someone like him could brighten Fenris’s day and make it better… well, then the world wasn’t as hopeless as it sometimes seemed to be. Fenris smiled and lightly leaned against Anders, pressing himself to Anders’s side until they were touching from thigh to shoulder in one unbroken line.

“Just be yourself,” Fenris whispered. “That is enough.” His free hand reached up to cup Anders’s cheek, his fingers rough with callouses but his touch gentle. Fenris tilted Anders’s face down, and they kissed underneath the heavy boughs of the apple tree.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
